


domestic HL

by louisismysun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, i just wanted them drunk and kissing on their couch tbh, idek what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louisismysun/pseuds/louisismysun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s two in the afternoon and both of them are lounging on the couch, wearing boxers and worn out t-shirts while the radio plays slow, sleepy songs from Harry’s favourite hipster station.</p>
            </blockquote>





	domestic HL

**Author's Note:**

> uhh.. so this is something i banged out at like 1am cause i just finished this semester (yayyy!!) and i was itching to write something that didn't involve science things.

They can’t remember how they ended up like this.

It’s two in the afternoon and both of them are lounging on the couch, wearing boxers and worn out t-shirts while the radio plays slow, sleepy songs from Harry’s favourite hipster station. There’s a bottle of wine on the floor that they’ve been drinking from steadily. It’s hot as fuck in LA and they both opted to stay in, thankful for air conditioning. It doesn’t matter how many years they’ve spent in this state, the heat always gets to them.

A bead of sweat rolls down from Louis’ neck, inching to his collarbones, and Harry is drunk enough to think that licking it up is a good idea. Which it is, he thinks, because Louis giggles and his eyes crinkle up in the corners as he tries to bat Harry away. Making Louis laugh is the purest thing. It’s magical really, like the world sparkles a little. Didn’t Peter Pan say that fairies were made from laughs? He’s not sure. But he thinks he should say it to Louis, that fairies come alive through his laughter. Later though, cause Louis’ neck is right there, being very distracting and it’s at the perfect angle to give him a kiss. So he does, biting and sucking a little so he could leave a mark. He hears Louis laugh again and do that little cough thing that he does when he’s about to make his voice sound stern, but when Louis opens his mouth all that comes out is a fond “Hazza.” His hands have also stopped trying to push him away and are now petting at his curls.

He trails kisses all the way up to Louis’ mouth and whispers a “Hi” against his lips with a grin. Louis just kisses him back, pulling him in by the curls to get him closer, tilts his head so the kisses get deeper. He feels a light bite at his lower lip and parts his lips to let Louis’ tongue slip in. His hands raise of their own accord to capture Louis’ hands and fit their fingers together. He drags them above Louis’ head, over the arm of the couch and presses closer to him. They kiss like this for a while, slow and lazy. Hot breaths and low moans coming from the both of them.

They pull away to breathe properly and Louis grins up at him, “Hey, Harry?”

Harry, however, has more important things on his mind, mainly trying to get his lips back to Louis’. Kiss him til’ his lips are red red ** _red_** and there’s a flush high on his cheeks and his eyes look lovestruck and dazed. God, what a sight it would make. He gives a non-committal hum and leans in again to do just that but Louis twists his head to the side and Harry’s kiss lands near his ear instead.

“Harry,” he says more insistently.

“What?”

“How do you throw a party in outer space?” And just… What?

“Are you gonna throw a party in outer space?”

Louis groans and says, “It’s a joke, Harold. Come on, just ask me how.”

A joke. He’s getting kiss blocked because of a joke. How is this his life? He wonders if other people have these problems. Surely not, they don’t have someone as ridiculous as Louis. Only Harry has Louis. Louis, who has an eyebrow cocked at him and is looking at him expectantly so he gives in and asks, “Louis, Loueh, my dear Lewis, how do you throw a party in outer space?”

“You **_planet_** _,_ ” answers Louis, waggling his eyebrows and looking smug.

Harry sits up and throws his head back with more force than necessary so his hair flips over his shoulder and bounces a little as it falls—something that never fails to fascinate Louis. “Oh my god.” He groans over dramatically, determined to keep Louis laughing like a maniac. “That was terrible. The worse joke I’ve ever heard. And I’m the one our fans tease for being corny?! Wow, if only they knew sass master Louis Tomlinson was even worse. Where do they think I even g—“

Louis has climbed into his lap and slapped a hand over his mouth so he could cut off his dramatic monologue. He’s short of breath from laughing, still smiling, and Harry has long stopped himself from smiling back. They must look like fools, grinning at each other like this but Harry couldn’t care less. They have a week off all their responsibilities, and it’s just… nice. It’s nice to laze around and in their big, private house. It’s nice to wake up late and do nothing. It reminds him of their old flat in Princess Park, of younger, less popular versions of themselves living together for the first time. Louis takes the hand off his mouth and leans closer, for a kiss, he thinks, but Louis just rubs their noses together, one, two, three times, and pulls back. Louis just gave him an eskimo kiss. He feels like his heart is about to burst. An eskimo kiss. That’s so cute. Why is Louis so cute?

“That’s just how it is, I’m afraid. It’s a curse that I’ve learned to bear,” says Louis. Harry hadn’t even realised he said that out loud. Louis shoots him a look that’s all innocence, making his blue eyes look bigger, looking up under his eyelashes, mouth pouting slightly. “At first it was hard, being the cutest person wherever I go, but I’ve learned to deal with it. You should too.” he continues, leaning down to pick up the forgotten bottle of wine and taking another swig. He offers it to Harry, so he takes the bottle and drinks, sets in down on the floor again.

He’s about to reach out and give Louis a proper kiss, like he’s been itching to do when he hears the song on the radio change.

_Wise men say…_ It’s a cover of an old song, one of their favourites, so he rises up, faltering a little as he tries to stand. He extends a hand toward Louis and says, “C’mon, cutie. Let me take you dancing.”

Louis stares at his hand for a few seconds before looking up and when he does; his eyes are soft and fond. He places his hand on top of his, standing up with more grace than Harry did, his other arm immediately curling around Harry’s waist. He pulls Louis in closer and waits for him to rest his head against his shoulder before taking a step. They still don’t know how to dance properly so it’s just random steps towards whichever direction as they sway together, but it still feels right. They’re laughing a little, feeling silly so they exaggerate a little. Louis rises up to his tiptoes so he can twirl him around. Harry fires back by trying to dip Louis and barely managing not to fall. They continue like that, trying to outdo each other with made up dance moves, long after the original song ends.

By the end of it all, Harry’s leaning against a wall, with his arms curled around Louis’ waist and hands resting low on his back. Louis’ looking at him with mirth in his eyes, fingers splayed over his own chest dramatically.

“Well, Mister, you’re certainly something else. Don’t know what a guy like me did to round up someone like you.” Louis drawls out in a truly terrible Southern accent.

Harry smiles his most charming grin at him, and with an equally terrible Southern drawl announces, “Reckon it’s your smile, cutie. And your laugh. So bright it could’ve brought fairies to life.”


End file.
